


Lipstick

by anseladamsfan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dimension Travel, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Female Harry Potter, Female Tom Riddle, Fingerfucking, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Sane Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-09-28 19:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20431457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anseladamsfan/pseuds/anseladamsfan
Summary: Harry can't make sense of Thomasin, and she doesn't particularly want to.(That doesn't stop her from staring.)





	1. Tango Red

** Part One**

** _Tango Red_ **

Harry didn’t know what to do.

And this wasn’t her normal level of confusion, like that she experienced when trying to write a coherent Transfiguration essay or decode Snape’s instructions in class. This was flat-out mayhem like she’d never known before, which was really saying something, considering the fact that Cedric was barely six feet under and Voldemort was freshly revived, much to his reptilian delight. Within the past 24 hours, she had been attacked by Dementors, expelled from Hogwarts, and rescued by Dumbledore’s secret organization (which she really should have heard about earlier, what with her parents being in it and Sirius sending her letters all the time).

As if that wasn’t enough, Harry had just been warned that someone had managed to pop in from another dimension—alternate dimensions being yet another thing she hadn’t been aware of—and that _that someone_ just happened to be Tom Riddle.

Aged sixteen.

And _female_.

Harry couldn’t get her mind around it. Voldemort and his twisted brand of masculinity seemed totally inseparable to her. He was so angry, so demanding, so ambitious—not that women couldn’t be those things, but they didn’t normally indulge in illusions of grandeur and attempt to take over countries to stroke their egos. Women just exercised power differently, not indulging in all that violence and dick-waving. (Lavender had taught her that term last year, giggling over Butterbeer in the common room, and Harry couldn’t help but think "dick-waving" was a particularly apt description of what she was seeing around her. Malfoy’s bragging? Voldemort’s competition with Dumbledore? Sirius and Snape’s constant verbal sparring? All about insecurity and inflated self-worth.)

And yet, a female future Voldemort sat before her, slowly finishing a bowl of French onion soup. Harry had already slurped down hers, always eager to devour Mrs. Weasley’s cooking, and was fidgeting with her spoon. Hermione was to her right, rifling through issues of _The Daily Prophet_ to bring Harry up to speed on current events, but Harry’s attention was entirely focused on the girl across from her.

To be honest, Thomasin Riddle wasn’t revealing much, aside from an ability to eat soup with an elegant flair. Giving her another once over, Harry was yet again taken aback by how good-looking she was. Riddle had the kind of skin that Lavender would kill for, all flawless and creamy in a way that made even Harry feel insecure—and she had good skin! Scarred by creatures and curses in places, sure, but even with all the stress from Voldemort and Hogwarts and the Dursleys, she’d never gotten so much as a pimple. But Riddle was on a completely different level. That skin, combined with full lips, high cheekbones, perfectly arched eyebrows, intense hazel eyes… Harry had to keep reminding herself that she was literally just Tom Riddle with some parts mixed around. Just as intelligent, manipulative, sadistic, possessive, and Harry would be damned if she couldn’t stop admiring the impossibly chic way Riddle’s bouncy curls kept falling. What was in the water in 1943?

Earlier, Hermione had whispered in her ear that Riddle looked like Shalom Harlow—whose name definitely sounded magical to Harry, but apparently was some muggle supermodel—and that Riddle had been covered in blood when she suddenly appeared in Grimmauld Place. Apparently, after getting cleaned up and borrowing some clothes, she and Hermione had chatted pleasantly about some book with a character also named Thomasin in it. Something with “native” in the title—Harry wasn’t one to remember extraneous details—that came out centuries ago. Now, they were discussing _Jude the Obscure_, which Harry presumed to be another book. Obscure, from the sound of it.

Watching Hermione and Riddle get along so nicely, Harry felt a stone pit of anger form in her gut. Who did Riddle, noted sadist and blood supremacist, think she was, acting all chummy with Hermione? Was no one in this house concerned by any of this? Tonks and Moody were discussing something intently by the fire, Ginny and Ron were playing Exploding Snap in the sitting room, and Harry wanted to scream.

Instead, she crossed her arms and huffed, drawing Riddle’s attention. Her eyes made Harry feel tingly, like she had eaten a box of Ice Mice and the menthol had burned down her throat into her belly.

Riddle leaned towards her, a pleasant look on her face. Not that that fooled Harry at all, as she was sure Riddle was hiding some inner nastiness that would threaten them all.

“So, dementors? In Surrey?”

“Yes.”

She cocked her head at Harry’s clipped response. “And you managed to hold them off with a Patronus?”

“I’ve been able to do one since I was thirteen. So, yeah.”

“Corporeal?” Riddle asked, looking surprised._ Oh, so it’s surprising that I’m capable of something? _Harry thought, her temper flaring.

“Yes. What’s it to you?” she challenged.

“Oh, nothing. It’s impressive, that’s all. Be sure to bring that up during your OWL practicals. You’d most certainly get extra credit.”

Harry blinked, not expecting such a Hermione-like response. “Well, I don’t know if I’ll be taking them, at this rate.”

Riddle pursed her lips, looking to Hermione, who seemed to share her sentiments. “Even in the unlikely scenario that you are expelled, you could still self-study for the exams. Some actually prefer this option, as you would have extra time to revise and wouldn’t be taking them until the summer, along with the other home-schooled students. I’m sure the testing process hasn’t changed significantly since my time.”

Harry sneered. “Well, don’t be so sure of anything. Lots of things have changed. A muggle man walked on the moon, for one.” Riddle’s eyes widened, bulging a bit in shock, and her stupidly perfect face suddenly looked incredibly silly. Harry smiled. “Yeah. So you don’t know everything.” Riddle scowled, and Harry grinned even wider, glad to finally see some of the _real_ Riddle.

Hermione stood up, attempting to de-escalate the situation. “Perhaps we should go to bed? We’re all on the fourth floor.” She warily eyed the two of them. “Separate rooms, thank goodness.”

* * *

A week later, Harry was still fuming. At least she hadn’t been expelled… though the outcome of the trial only proved Riddle right. _Naturally_. She wanted to scream into her pillow. Everything about Riddle was _so_ infuriating, from how well she got on with Hermione to how even Dumbledore had urged Harry to make her feel welcome for however long she was in this dimension. Hell, even Sirius liked her, and Sirius had promised he'd always be on Harry's side!

And now, she had to spend the morning with Riddle, organizing some long-forgotten corner of the library. Harry begrudgingly rolled out of bed, haphazardly combing through her hair with her fingers, and trudged downstairs. Riddle was already in the library, humming some swingy tune as she examined the shelves. She cut a fine figure, all long limbs and elegant lines underneath her jeans, which had been acquired by Tonks. The jumper she was wearing, however, was from Mrs. Weasley, and it caused a dark part of Harry twist with jealousy. The thought of Riddle infiltrating Harry’s circle of family and friends, charming whomever she pleased and getting whatever she wanted, made her seethe.

“Hey.” Riddle didn’t turn around. Harry wanted to grab a handful of her curly hair and force her to look her in the eye.

“Morning,” Riddle said brightly. “Did you have breakfast?”

“Not hungry.”

“Pity. The bangers were delicious.”

“Have you seen-”

“Hermione and Ronald are out in the garden, last time I checked. At it again, most likely.”

Harry snorted. “They get like that.”

Riddle turned to hand her a book. “Well, whatever she sees in him, I’ll never know.”

“Erm, they’re not together?” Harry wrinkled her nose at the thought of that disastrous pairing. _Ron and Hermione? Never._

“Really? Well, perhaps Hermione will come to her senses and seek greener pastures.”

Harry nodded, then realized what Riddle was getting at.

“Hey! Ron’s a good friend, and he’s decent to the core.” Harry grabbed a book from the shelf, pushing Riddle out of the way. “More than I can say about you,” she added darkly, marching off. She had no clue where she was going with this book, but Riddle followed, her long legs taking no time to catch up with Harry.

“And the ad hominem attacks continue. What crimes, pray tell, have I committed now?”

Harry stopped and whirled around, glaring. “You’re always up to something, Riddle. You’re looking at all the books and smirking about something, and you know, no one our age wears lipstick anymore, you just look strange and I–I don’t know what you did to everyone else, but stop it. You can’t fool me.”

Riddle raised one eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you insist.” She unceremoniously wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing her dark red lipstick everywhere. “Better?”

Harry scoffed, rolling her eyes, and walked back to the shelf. She looked down at the book in her hands—and _yuck_, who wrote this thing?—before dropping it on the desk.

“You know, if I didn’t know better…” Riddle mused, standing behind her.

“If you didn’t know better what?”

“Oh, nothing.” She smiled, lipstick messy, and Harry glared. “I apologize for earlier. I wasn’t attempting to talk badly of your friend. I was just observing that Hermione would be better off with her books, as boys are overrated. Especially at this age.”

“You’ve got me there,” Harry said, thinking of her disastrous Yule Ball date with Colin Creevey. Terrible idea, terrible execution, terrible, _terrible_ photos documenting everything.

Riddle grinned. “Have I? How delightful.”


	2. Cherry Red

**Part Two**

_ **Cherry Red** _

A few days later, Riddle stumbled down the stairs into the cellar. Unfortunately, Harry had been standing at the foot of the stairs, so she had also been sent sprawling onto the cobblestone floor.

“Geez! Warn a woman,” Harry groaned.

“The carpet grabbed me!” Riddle looked personally insulted. “It didn’t have any problem with you!”

“I dunno, it must’ve hated your shirt. Can you get off me?” Harry attempted to push her off, but Riddle was heavier than she looked.

“This is your shirt!” Riddle said, affronted. Still, she rolled off Harry, wincing at her bloody knee.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not an ugly shirt.” At least it wasn’t as huge on Riddle, who had several inches of height on Harry. The flannel was so faded that it looked like a blueish blob of mold, and Harry hadn't been sad to see it go.

Riddle's lips quirked. “I didn’t want to say anything rude about your charity.” She shifted, attempting to stand. “Ahhh!" She hissed, and at Harry’s concerned look, she shook her head. “My leg’s numb. Not anything serious, just pins-and-needles. I do need to patch this knee up, though, so if you could possibly—"

“Help you upstairs?” Harry sighed exasperatedly, holding out her arm. “Sure, your highness.”

It took some maneuvering, but they were able to avoid the cursed bit of carpeting and make their way up to the fourth floor. Harry paused at Riddle’s door, but Riddle beckoned her in, patting the comforter beside her.

“We can afford to take a break. Molly won’t mind if you’re coming to my aid.” Mrs. Weasley wouldn’t mind if Riddle ran naked through the house, as she had the Weasley matriarch entirely under her spell, metaphorically speaking. Harry shrugged, lingering in the doorway. Riddle rolled her eyes. “Could you at least give me my kit? It’s over on the desk, and I don’t have a wand. As you well know. ”

Harry crossed the threshold, grabbing the box and tossing it on the bed before collapsing near Riddle. She watched as Riddle gingerly rolled up her pant leg, applying an antiseptic and tightly wrapping her knee with a bandage.

“That should hold, for now. I can get a healing charm from Molly later.” Riddle leaned back against a pillow, meeting Harry’s gaze. “Thank you for catching my fall.”

“I’m very hardy.”

“Well, I think we deserve an afternoon nap for our efforts. Summer days are meant to be lazy.” Harry’s muscles were aching, and this mattress was comfier than her own, so she didn’t put up much of a protest. She watched Riddle yawn, stretching her arms, and found herself captivated by the way Riddle’s fingers began toying with a lock of her long curly hair. Riddle would gently pull at it, and the curl would bounce back up like a spring, shiny and perfect. Harry watched this until her eyes began to feel heavy, each blink taking longer than the next, and she—

“Are you seeing anyone?” Harry nearly jumped out of her skin, Riddle’s hushed tones interrupting her slumber.

“What?!”

“I was merely curious.”

“About gossip,” Harry said, disbelieving.

“It makes the world go round.” Harry scoffed. “It’s more vital than you think. Just because it’s traditionally feminine doesn’t mean it's not important. Gossip got Churchill in the PM seat, after all.”

“More than once,” Harry mumbled into the comforter.

Riddle’s voice took on a keen edge. “Really? I’ll have to look out for that.”

“I guess.” She rolled onto her back, irritated. “If you really must know, I’m single. Never dated.”

Riddle let out a contemplative hum, and Harry suddenly felt defensive.

“I’ve had crushes, you know, just like any other person, but it’s so hard to act on them. You probably don’t get it, considering, well.” She paused at that, and the tiniest of smirks crossed Riddle's face. Harry rolled her eyes. “You know how you look. My crushes are always so… unreachable, I guess? It’s like it’s safer or something. I mean, there’s no conceivable way they’d ever be with me, so no harm in dreaming, you know? They’re all smarter, more talented, better looking…” she trailed off, thinking of Cedric’s floppy hair. Hugh Grant had nothing on Cedric, really.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re plenty good-looking.”

“I’m being realistic.”

Riddle frowned. “You are very attractive. You’ll be even prettier, too, once you’re older. I’m sure of it.”

Harry blushed. “You’re just saying that to placate me.”

“Is it working?” Riddle said cheekily. Harry hit her arm with a pillow. “Really, you’re very cute. Like Myrna Loy.” At Harry’s baffled expression, she clarified. “A film star. Tiny little thing, like you, with such piercing eyes, like yours. A real scene-stealer, too, just like you.”

Harry could feel her blush deepening. “W-what do you mean?” she stuttered.

“You command a room without noticing, and everything you do is so genuine, so unaffected. If you’re happy, you’re happy, angry, you’re angry—it’s charming, really.” Riddle’s eyes were locked on hers, glistening like stones in a river, and Harry had to look away. “Someone will come along and truly appreciate that, just you wait,” Riddle said assuringly.

“You shouldn’t be so condescending. But sure, if you say so.” She sighed, leaning back. “In the meantime, it just me and-”

“Your hand?” Riddle interjected wryly.

“Excuse me?” Harry didn’t catch her meaning, but she could tell when she was being made fun of. “I meant Hermione and Ron. My friends. It’s just us for now.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“What did you mean?”

“Well, rather than wait around for someone else to romance you, you could always…” She waved in the vague direction of her hips. Harry cocked her head, confused, and Riddle let out a gentle chuckle. “You know, get a head start?” Riddle said, eyes widening for emphasis. “With yourself, the way men do?”

_Oh._

“Oh. Yeah, that,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. Harry bit her lip again, unsure how to respond. “But, isn’t that, you know, unsanitary? I mean, it’s kind of dirty down there, right?”

“Not particularly. We’re just not encouraged to do it the way men are—it’s a sort of cultural stereotype. Boys will be boys, while us girls-”

“Should remain prim and proper,” Harry intoned, thinking about Mrs. Weasley’s little chats about the maturing witch.

“Precisely. All that purity tosh. How exhausting.”

Harry turned to Riddle. “So, you’ve done it then?” Riddle nodded, looking smug. “Well, bully for you.”

“There’s no need to be jealous.”

“I’m not jealous! I’m just inexperienced. That sort of stuff isn’t a competition, you know.”

Riddle held her hands up in mock defense. “I never said it was.”

“Well, just… you do you, and I’ll do me.”

“That’s the general idea.”

Harry's cheeks reddened. “That’s—that’s not what I meant! It’s an expression!” she sputtered.

“Of course.”

"You shouldn’t tease people like that!"

“I don’t. I just like teasing _you_. You can take it, obviously, and you give as good as you get.”

Clearly, Riddle wasn’t going to let herself be admonished, so Harry gave up. “You’re such an arsehole. And that’s the truth, don’t correct me.” Riddle said nothing as Harry brought her arm to her face, covering her eyes. They laid there in silence, listening to each other’s breathing until Harry’s curiosity got the best of her.

“So, if I wanted to—you know—what do you do?”

“How do you mean?” Riddle replied sleepily.

“Down there.”

“Mmm. Just do what feels right.”

“But where? Do I just stick my fingers in and hope for the best?” Riddle burst out laughing and curled around her pillow, which was far more endearing than it had any right to be. “It’s not funny!” Harry insisted. “No one pulled me aside to explain this, you know!”

After a few moments, Riddle calmed down and made a V with her fingers. “Observe. Use these to pull apart your labia.” Harry blanched. “Fine, your _lower lips_. Near the narrow part of the V, there should be a_ pleasant button_, let’s call it, that you should touch with the index finger of your other hand. You might need something slick, like petroleum jelly, but experiment with pressure, circles, again, whatever feels right.”

Harry was skeptical.

“It’s natural,” Riddle insisted. “Truly.”

* * *

Harry was _pissed._

“You lied,” she hissed in Riddle’s ear after dinner. “It didn’t work.”

“What didn’t work?”

“Don’t play coy with me. You know what.” She glanced at the Order members slowly filing out of the kitchen, before dragging Riddle into the empty pantry. “It made me feel like I had to pee.”

Riddle nodded, curls bouncing. “That sounds about right.”

“No, it’s not! It felt strange and I had to stop.”

“You should have kept going.” She rolled her eyes at Harry’s glare. “_Honestly_. It’s a simple enough matter—practically everyone under the sun has managed it.” She paused to grab a spare dinner roll off the shelf, Mrs. Weasley having left enough bread to feed a small army under a preservation spell. “Just try again.” Riddle took a bite out of her roll before reclining against the wall, giving Harry a languorous once-over.

Harry suddenly felt incredibly warm. “Well, um.” She swallowed, throat feeling dry. "But... what if I don’t want to?”

“No one said you had to," Riddle said, coolly.

“But you’ll lord it over me until I do.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Sex isn’t everything, and there’s so much else to critique.” She smirked, and Harry’s irritation returned.

“Oh, _thanks_.”

“Your temper, for one. And your ability to take everything personally…”

“Just shut up!”

“I will. Just as soon as I figure out why you’re so fixated on this.”

“You brought it up!” Harry said, jabbing a finger into Riddle’s chest. Riddle glanced down at Harry’s finger, amused, before leaning towards the other girl, her eyes gleaming in the dim light.

“And yet, you’re the one who is so hyper-focused on it. Who keeps talking to me about it. And keeps asking me questions about it. It’s as if you’re too helpless to figure out something so simple, so rudim—”

“I’m not _helpless_!” Harry growled, pushing Riddle back against the brick. Riddle just smiled, like she had expected Harry to do that and knew everything there was to know and Harry wanted to slap her, punch her, get her to do something other than sneer at Harry’s ignorance. Riddle pushed herself off the wall, brushing off her jumper. She sauntered over to Harry, using her height to her advantage to crowd Harry up against the shelf.

“Then why all the questions, Harry?” She narrowed her eyes, a jackal’s grin stretching across her face. “Do you need _assistance_?” she asked, faux innocence dripping off every word.

“No!” Harry said, perhaps too quickly. Her heart was fluttering in her chest while her stomach rearranged itself into a knot, and Riddle’s proximity wasn’t helping with any of that. “I don’t need any help.”

Riddle let out an unconvinced sound.

“I don’t!” Harry insisted. “I don’t want your help, either. So just leave me alone.”

“If you say so.” Riddle stepped away from her, giving Harry room to flee. Harry remained frozen to the spot, staring Riddle down.

“I do.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Harry echoed snippily.

Riddle grabbed another roll and walked towards the kitchen, pausing at the pantry door. “I’ll be in my room, then. If you have any more questions.” She gave Harry a lingering look, like she was challenging her to something, before disappearing from view.

Harry stood there in the pantry, unsure of what had just happened. A few hours later, she found herself pacing in front of Riddle’s door, huddled in the dark in her pajamas. _Why on Earth was she doing this? Surely, there was some dirty book down in the library, or maybe Hermione knew about some pamphlet, but she could never ask _Hermione _about this, and god, was this actually going to happen, or would Riddle just make fun of her, like always? She should just run back to her room, run back to her ragged quilt and Quidditch books and scream—_

Riddle opened the door. Her waist-length hair was mussed, one side a little smushed, and she was only wearing a t-shirt and panties. _Had she actually been sleeping? _Harry didn’t know anyone their age who went to bed before ten, unless you counted Oliver Wood before a pre-dawn practice.

“Are you coming in, then?” Riddle asked, quiet and serious, and Harry swallowed thickly, closing the door behind her.


	3. Red Velvet

**Part Three**

_ **Red Velvet** _

Riddle stood across from Harry, her pale legs glowing faintly in the moonlight. If it weren’t for the contrasting hair and Weird Sisters t-shirt, Riddle could pass for a marble statue from antiquity. Harry was suddenly very taken with Riddle’s nose, the way the shadow it created danced across her cheek, the way the philtrum curved down towards her defined cupid’s bow. In this light, Riddle’s lips were the palest of pinks, smooth and delicate like the satin ballet shoes Harry had fantasized about as a child.

Harry felt a pre-emptive wave of shame wash over her. She looked nothing like Riddle, from her scarred forearms and diminutive height to her bushy eyebrows and lacking breasts. She was like a squat little troll doll, her hair staticky and nose slightly bulbous, as if a sculptor had shaped it by pulling a bunch of clay down the bridge and had left the remaining material at the tip. 

It wasn’t too awful, really, but Harry couldn’t help but notice her nose in every photo of her, the way it drew focus and ever-so-slightly overwhelmed her face. Lavender had loaned her a magazine on how to use makeup to minimize it, but Harry’s attempts thus far made it look like she’d smeared dirt along the sides of her nose. Part of Harry wanted to do what Hermione did with her teeth and have Madam Pomfrey shrink it down a bit, but that would be a terrible abuse of the mediwitch’s trust. Plus, she had her father’s nose, and she didn’t want to get rid of him any more than Voldemort already had. 

“How would you like to do this?” Riddle asked, drawing Harry from her spiral into self-loathing. 

Harry shrugged, crossing her arms defensively.

“We could keep standing here, but perhaps you have other ideas?” Riddle sounded so calm and self-assured, while Harry could practically feel her nerves vibrating in her bones. She averted her eyes, taking in the rest of the room. The bed was slightly messy, the comforter pushed down towards the end, but it looked comfortable enough, she supposed. 

Riddle followed Harry’s gaze. “On the bed, watching?” 

Harry nodded, and Riddle took a few steps towards her, clasping Harry’s shoulders. 

“There’s no reason to be nervous.” Her thumbs traced Harry’s collarbones, rubbing them through the thin fabric of her robe and pajama top. Harry nodded, and Riddle smiled, giving Harry’s shoulders a gentle squeeze before climbing onto the bed, shimmying out of her panties to sit on the sheets. Riddle leaned over to grab a jar from the drawer, her back arching slightly, and Harry stared at the dark thatch of hair at the apex of Riddle’s thighs. She’d seen other women naked, but she’d never been invited to look before. 

Riddle cleared her throat, and Harry jumped. Skittishly, she unwrapped her robe and dropped it to the floor before stepping out of her pajama bottoms. Toying with the edge of her panties, she stood at the foot of the bed, watching Riddle watch her.

“You should take those off.”

Harry did, and Riddle responded by pulling off of her shirt and laying back on the pillows. She shook her head, hair tumbling down over her breasts, and Harry was surprisingly riveted by the sight of Riddle’s nipples peeking through her curls. _Like Lady Godiva_, a voice in Harry's mind added, and it was suddenly all she could think about.

“Now, you,” Riddle said, playing with a stray curl near her shoulder. “It feels nice,” she added, a teasing smirk on her lips.

“You don’t have to sweet-talk me,” Harry muttered, beginning to wiggle out of her top.

“Ah, so you do have a voice.”

Harry paused, head stuck in the neck of her shirt, to glare at Riddle. “Sorry, I thought we were being _secretive_. What with the lack of silencing charms and all.”

“Oh, there’s a soundproofing rune woven into the wallpaper in here. Did you not notice?” As if it was the most obvious thing in the world, Riddle gestured towards a cluster of shapes over the door that Harry had to squint to see. 

“Guess I should’ve taken runes.” Harry’s shirt fell to the floor, and Riddle nodded, eyes roving over her. 

“Care and Divination are certainly a waste of your talents.”

“I’m not here to discuss my report card.” Riddle chuckled, and Harry crawled onto the bed, sitting across from the other girl. She swiped some lubricant out of the jar and spread her legs, looking at Riddle expectantly. “So? Let’s go.”

“Aren’t we abrupt? Okay then. Lie back and mirror my movements.” Riddle’s hands made their way downward, and Harry’s did the same, parting her labia and coating her clitoris with the lubricant. It was a little cold, but Harry was warm enough that it didn’t matter. Riddle slowly began rubbing her clit, her fingers in tiny circles, and Harry mimicked her, feeling her clit become more sensitive. Harry had done this earlier, had felt her clit get all tingly and erect, but she hadn’t gotten any further than that. 

“How does that feel?” Riddle reached up to pinch at a nipple and sighed, her head falling back, which Harry didn’t really understand. Harry’s nipples didn’t do much for her, aside from awkwardly point like tiny daggers through her sports bra. _Was she supposed to be feeling something?_

“Fine.” Harry pinched her other nipple, attempting to elicit another reaction. Nada. _Was this really all there is?_

Riddle stopped, sensing Harry’s displeasure. “If you don’t like it, we can stop.” She seemed genuinely apologetic, which was strange, coming from her. 

“No, it’s fine. I’m just not… feeling it, I guess?” 

“You’re not aroused?”

“No, I’m just not liking the boob thing. It’s… distracting.”

“And _downstairs_?”

“I like that.”

“Can you elaborate?”

“It makes me tingle. And then the pee feeling comes back.”

Riddle let out a frustrated huff. For a second, Harry thought they were going to stop this little experiment, but Riddle beckoned to her. 

“Come here.” Riddle patted the area between her legs. Harry hesitated. “Come on,” she urged, and Harry clumsily scooted up the bed, tangling her legs in the comforter in the process. She settled between Riddle’s thighs, spine stiff and straight as a board. “Lean on me, and I’ll show you,” Riddle whispered, putting her hands on Harry’s shoulders and pulling her back towards her. There was a small patch of wetness against Harry’s bum, and a hot, feverish thrill gushed through Harry’s veins. She’d never felt someone else so excited before.

“Relax,” Riddle purred into her ear, and Harry took a deep breath to calm the hyperactive butterflies in her stomach.

Riddle’s hands drifted down Harry’s sides, barely touching the skin and creating goosebumps in their wake. Harry shivered, and she could feel Riddle smile into her neck. Riddle kept brushing up and down her body, and Harry closed her eyes, focusing on the sensations. Riddle trailed a nail around her areola, which caused her nipple to pebble, and did the same to the other one. She pinched and twisted a nipple, lightly scratching across the top, only to stop when Harry squirmed.

“Don’t like that, huh?”

Harry shook her head. 

“We all have our own quirks.” She smoothed her hands down Harry’s torso and began tracing invisible patterns into Harry’s thighs. _Much better_, Harry thought, and she sighed, enjoying the pleasant sensations. Harry could feel herself clench in anticipation, her juices beginning to gather in the folds of her cunt. The air felt weighted against her skin as if it were pushing against her, and she gasped when Riddle’s fingers slipped between her labia. 

“That’s nice,” Riddle said, voice low and breathy, and Harry had to agree. Riddle’s maddeningly light touches became firmer and more precise, kneading small circles into Harry’s clit with two fingers. Occasionally, she’d reach down and slip a finger inside Harry, gathering the liquid slowly gushing from her and smearing it over Harry’s clit. Harry’s breathing quickened, her hips moving of their own accord, and Riddle’s hot breath on her neck made her feel both exposed and protected. She felt like Little Red Riding Hood in the embrace of the Big Bad Wolf, like she was being hugged by a monster who could hurt her—or shield her from the other monsters. 

Harry’s clammy hands twisted in the sheets, impatient, unsatisfied, and she whimpered at the return of the peeing feeling.

“It’s happening again,” she worried.

“Shhh. Just let it happen.” Riddle kept rubbing her clit, harder, faster, deeper, and Harry trembled at the feeling of losing control. _No. She was gonna pee, she was going to pee everywhere, make a mess all over everything and couldn’t Riddle understand that she didn’t want to pee, didn’t want to—_

Harry groaned. She went rigid, her back arching and mouth falling open, and the world went still. For a few precious moments, all that existed was the rush of her ears and the sweet release of her weeping, gasping, ravenous cunt. Her thighs spasmed again, and Harry returned to find Riddle stroking her hair, wiping the misting of sweat from Harry’s brow. She was floating, she was safe, and Harry didn’t know what to make of that, of feeling safer in wrapped in Riddle’s arms than she did anywhere else.

“Oh my god,” Harry panted, gulping down air.

“Wasn't that nice?” Riddle said, nuzzling into Harry’s neck.

“Oh my god,” she repeated, mind still whirring.

Riddle’s face was luminous, her expression triumphant, and another thrum of desire swept through Harry. She leaned towards Riddle, noting the approving look in Riddle's eye, and captured those perfect lips with her own.

Riddle returned her kiss. Thoroughly.

* * *

“An evening of firsts,” Riddle proclaimed, freshly cleansed and fully exhausted. The two of them were slumped in bed, neither of them willing to move, and an alarm had been set for the early morning.

Harry looked up from where she was playing with a ringlet of Riddle’s hair. “For me, I guess.”

“For me, too.” She chuckled at Harry’s look of shock. “I’ve never been with someone in a bed before. Much comfier.”

“You mean—seriously? You were a broom closet girl?” For all the derogatory nicknames, Harry didn’t look down on those girls, as Hogwarts wasn’t as conducive to snogging as you might think. All those portraits, so little privacy.

“I preferred the astronomy tower, but yes.”

“You must have been popular with the boys.” Riddle gave her an incredulous look, and, on second thought, Harry couldn’t really imagine Riddle with a boy. “So, this is, like, your thing? Girls, I mean.”

“Women,” Riddle said, eyes locked on Harry, and Harry was surprised to be thought of as a woman. Everyone seemed to see her as a little girl, even her friends, and to be perceived that way, to be seen as an adult, was exciting. Arousing, even.

A sudden thought struck Harry. “Did we… was this_ sex?_”

“I’d be hard-pressed to say otherwise.”

“Wow.” Harry hadn’t realized she had just given up her virginity. All it had taken was a few fingers and tongues, and it hadn’t been uncomfortable like the pamphlets said it would. Did she still have a hymen? She _did_ play quidditch, so probably not, but Riddle’s fingers weren’t long enough to prod around up there and find out, were they? Harry bit her lip, wondering if she’d no longer be able to play with the unicorns in Care, and Riddle kissed her again, distracting her from her post-coital musings.

“There are still other things we can do. Later, if you’re interested.”

Harry was. 


End file.
